


Play With Me

by AliceMowse



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMowse/pseuds/AliceMowse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is an anti-social outcast who would rather spend his days alone in his shop socializing with his creations than actual people. Marco has become a daily customer, forcing Jean out of his reclusive state with the goal of introducing him to the world that he's missing. Envy, admiration, and desire slowly chip away at the hard exterior that Jean has built around himself, opening him up to this new life filled with more than he could have ever dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy it. This is my first long term piece of fan fiction and I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> You can track the fic on tumblr under the tag fic: play with me  
> You can also find me on tumblr under the username of racy-riren.
> 
> Thank you again!   
> -Racy

A few times a week, I watch as perfection walks through the door to my little shop in the middle of the run down part of Trost City. The bell over the door rings in welcome and I can feel my heart jump in my chest and slither up my throat, making it near impossible to breathe. Let alone form coherent sentences. Today is no different and as I anxiously watch the cruddy people walk past my window, I have to wipe my palms on my apron. The mix of sweat and dust from my impatience leaves a paste that just has me cursing my rotten luck. What if he wants to shake hands today? Who am I kidding? When has he ever wanted to touch me? He just walks in, drops off the mail he found out front because I've been neglecting collecting it since opening, and leans against the counter. Watching me.  
Thats one thing I admire about him. He's not afraid of silence. Occasionally we have a conversation. More so when he's ordering one of the dolls I make. But more often than not, its just those big beautiful brown eyes watching me work. They follow me around the entire store as I move. No matter what boring task I'm doing, he finds interest in it. As if I'm the best form of entertainment he has.

When he does make an order, he insists on watching me sketch it out. He always wants perfection and critiques the early drawing to make sure everything is to his specifications. He never mentions who he's ordering all of these dolls for, and I never care to ask. It's none of my business what he does outside of interacting with me. Though, I'd be lying to myself if I said it didn't make me jealous. Thinking of him with someone else. Having someone so special that he needs to order them a custom made resin doll and critique it until it's perfected. I don't think he knows that there is no way for me to capture the inner beauty in a simple sculpt. Not when he's sucking the entire place dry of it. His smile is bright and blinding. His eyes are large and soft. The splattering of freckles across his face is charming. Don't even get me started on the way his body shifts under his clothing when he walks. All hard lines covered in soft flesh, obscured from my eyes by the clinging fabric of his shirt. One time he stretched and a bit of skin poked out and greeted me as if it were saying hello. I about died right on the spot.

Perfection walks through my door and I have become a man obsessed. My creations no longer appease me. Their flawless beauty was once the only kind that I craved. I took solace in their cold eyes and their pale skin. Their silence that would put me at ease. With their company I never felt the need to crave attention from the outside. The customers who would wander into the shop rarely stayed. Most of the orders came from online anymore and that was always fine with me. Talking with people was never my strong suit. I don't get along with them. However, lately I've been finding that keeping to myself is no longer enough. I want something more. Something warm. Soft. With a smile that knocks me dead. A voice that makes my blood hum through my veins. Thanks to him the simple life I've lived alone, keeping to myself, making friends with my own two hands is no longer enough. I'm not satisfied anymore. Instead, I pine for him. I hate it. I can't focus. Nothing I create is good enough. Because nothing compares to him. Every day I stand at the front counter hoping today will be the day that he walks through the door. Every day I tell myself that today will be the day. Today, I'll put an end to this. Shake off this god damn obsession. Really, it's becoming bad for business. I can't keep smashing every doll that I create because it's dull in comparison to him. I'm losing stock. I'm losing interest. I can't keep drawing only one face and then becoming frustrated when it doesn't translate to the resin. No. I can't keep doing this. And there is only one way to fix it. One way to set me free from whatever spell he's put me under.

“Morning, Jean!”

The sound of the familiar bell was once again enough to shake me from whatever hellish thoughts I had slipped into. I took a look at my hands and found that the image I had been working on creating for an order had been destroyed in my utter frustration with the same man who had just stumbled into my door. It never ceases to amaze me how Marco Bodt can light up a room just by entering it.Ten in the morning and he was bounding in here like a ray of fucking sunshine. It took me three cups of coffee just to convince myself to shower this morning and I was still feeling sluggish.

“You got another package this morning.”

I swept the destroyed pieces of drawing into the waste basket as he laid the large box down in front of me. A simple brown package with no shipping label or return address, they started showing up almost weekly as of late. I'd ask the post office about it, but that would require talking to people and that is one venture I'm never up for. Outside of customer interaction and conversation with the man in front of me, conversing with others just exhausts me. People disgust me to the point that I can't even stomach having the TV on as background noise anymore.  
Marco, on the other hand... I've seen how he reacts to the outside world and I can't help but feel a bit envious. Socializing just seems so easy for him. He's friendly. People like him. People trust him. The other day I watched the dirty stray cat from the back alley prance up to him like he was the fucking thing's best friend. I watched him run his fingers over the silky fur. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be that cat. If to only feel how those fingers would feel in my hair. Down my spine. Stroking me until I was purring and writhing in pure bliss.

“So, what's in this one?”

I was spacing out again. His voice broke me out of the thought process I was about to venture down and I had to blink a few times to focus my eyes on him.

“You know I can't tell you that.”

I snatched the box from his reach and dropped it behind the counter. I didn't know what I'd find in this one. But if it was anything like the others, it wasn't for someone with a weak stomach. The first one I had left sit for the sole purpose of kicking it back to the UPS man, but the entire thing had rotted through a few days later. I had a very special customer who had very specific instructions on how they wanted their dolls crafted. As long as they were paying, I wasn't one to judge.

Marco drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter like he was impatient with something, his eyes finally straying from the box, back to my face.

“You're a doll maker, what sort of top secret materials could you be ordering in that you can't share with your favorite customer?”

“I don't remember calling you my favorite.”

The grin he shot me was probably illegal in at least twenty states and I could feel my knees quake as I fought to keep my throat from closing. This is why he was a problem. This is why everything that my hand put down on paper lately ended up being his face. This is why it needed to end.

“I don't have to hear it from your lips. Your eyes say it all, Jean.”

Paranoia shot down my spine like I had been doused with ice water. What other secrets were my eyes betraying to him?

“Yeah, whatever. I have an order to finish sanding down.”

I turned my back on him, aiming for the work bench. If I looked away from him, maybe I had a chance to get some work done and lessen the pile that had been stacking up.  
Right as I was about to reach my arm out for the sanding mask, I was suddenly turned right back around and staring at a particularly close patch of freckles. My skin hurt where he held a tight grip on my arm and I knew without a doubt I'd see a bruise bloom there later. Had he always been this strong?

“You shouldn't ignore your customers. I'm here to order today.”

The look I shot him must have been cold enough that he took the hint and loosened his death grip. I shook out the stiff pain before sliding over the order sheet to him. About once a month Marco actually came in to make a personal order. Assuming he wasn't giving them away, his house must have been filled with my creations at this point. Male. Female. Occasionally he gets creative and wants me to design something weird, like a plant or an animal. His imagination has proven limitless, and I have no idea what he does with them all. He once told me that he worked as a photographer and he enjoyed using them in his media, but I've never once seen any of those photographs.

“What are you after this time?”

The question falling from my lips surprised even me as I went to work on sanding, the dust immediately sticking to my fingers.

I watched for a moment as he chewed on the end of my pen, his gaze telling me that he was lost in thought. It had me wondering if he were actually here to order or if it had just been an excuse to hang out longer.

“Have you ever made a life sized doll, Jean?”

The question caught me off guard and I actually removed my mask to talk to him.

“Huh? Do you have any idea what that would cost in materials?”

“Price doesn't matter to me. I want a life sized one. I want a life sized doll of me.”

The piece of resin I was currently attempting to shape into a face fell from my hands and hit the hard floor. The sound of it smacking and cracking against the hard wood mimicked the irregular rhythmic thump my heart was currently giving off.

All at once the request pissed me off and excited me. This was my chance. The opportunity I had been waiting for had just presented itself to me on a silver platter. Sculpt the perfection of Marco Bodt in a life sized format. My own Marco.

“So, what do you say, Jean? Will you do it? Will you make me into a doll?”  
How could I refuse? Who would ever refuse?

“Challenge accepted.”

**  
Days. It had been days since Marco had come into the shop and asked me to do this. I had spent those days wide awake, pouring over sketch pad after sketch pad. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. If I had thought myself a man obsessed before, now I was down right possessed. Nothing I drew out was right. Not the eye. Not the splash of freckles. They were very _specific freckles._ Each one had it's own individual detail, and for the love of god why couldn't I just get it right? Marco's nose curved this way, yet my hand couldn't capture it. His smile was very straight forward, not too wide. Not too small. His lips were a very detailed shape. Round. Soft. Something that I would enjoy biting. His face was the hardest. His likeness was easy enough to capture, but the light around him just wasn't translating to the paper. Marco Bodt was unsketchable and I hadn't even made it to the harder lines of his body.  
I'd torn up dozens of sketches at this point. The entirety of the studio looked like a fucking hamster cage and I had ripped at my hair so hard that I felt like I had bald patches and my scalp ached.

I couldn't do it. I, Jean Kirschstein, could not find a way to capture the beauty of Marco Bodt on simple paper alone. Frustration had taken hold of me. Exhaustion riddled my mind. In a fit of absolute rage I destroyed my entire studio. Orders smashed to pieces. Clay molds totally blown apart. Every bit of destruction I caused, I imagined I was breaking Marco. My hands on his throat, squeezing until a flush lit up those beauty marks like stars in the night sky. Sinking my nails into his soft flesh, tearing at his skin until I could smell the coppery scent of his blood. My teeth would sink into his throat. I would slam his hard body against the wall until I was hearing bones cracking like the sound of the resin hitting the concrete as I wiped off my entire work table, sending it all crashing to the floor.  
This man was impossible. His perfection something that can only be captured in its own likeness. Only his body would be able to hold so much absolute purity. The glowing light of life that is Marco Bodt is his own unique creation. My hands had no hope of portraying that.

Defeated and frustrated, I took a look at the mess I had made. The thoughts circling inside my head bordering on madness before an idea struck me. A perfect idea for a perfect man. If I couldn't find a way to sculpt Marco, who else could? No one. No one would ever be able to find a way to capture every asset of his being. But I knew of one way. I was on the phone in a matter of minutes. I needed him here if this was going to work the way I wanted it to. Everything else could wait. Nothing else mattered right now.  
_“_

_Jean?”_

His voice sounded tired on the other end of the line. What time was it? How long had I been at this?

“I need you to come in. I need to see you in person to be able to do this.”

_“Yeah? I can be there first thing in the morning.”_

Without another word I hung up, relief washing over me. A few more hours and this would all be over. I'd be able to relax, get back to work, be normal again.

Marco made good on his promise a few hours later and showed up a little before I opened the door. I opened the shop just for him and then left the closed sign hang on the door.

“You look like hell, Jean. Are you alright?”

The bags under my eyes, my crazed hair, and my sluggish demeanor probably gave away the fact that I hadn't slept in the better part of a week, and it was all his fucking fault.

“I'm fine. Just tired. Follow me.”

I took his hand for the first time ever and tried my hardest to ignore the thrumming of my pulse at the feel of his skin. Damn, his hands were soft. What the fuck did he do for a living again? I couldn't bring my nerve rattled mind to recall the answer I know I had a few hours ago. But I knew virtually nothing about Marco Bodt, when he seemed to know absolutely everything about me. I decided right then it was just another mark to add onto my growing list of things I hated about him.  
I guess he decided that my snapping response was enough, because he was silent for the rest of the way down to the work room.

“Sorry, it's cold down here for the curing time.”

I couldn't fathom why I was apologizing to him. But the dampness of the entire place did leave a bit to be embarrassed about. Especially considering Marco was going to have to drop those tight ass hugging jeans of his and lose the super gay sweater. Who wore cashmere to a fucking doll shop anyway?

“So, how is this going to work?”

He stood in the middle of the room and rubbed awkwardly at his arm. It was the first time in knowing Marco that he looked genuinely uncomfortable. And who could blame him? The entire work room was cinderblock and concrete with only a few wooden tables and stacked to the brim with resin cast limbs, glass eyes, and a whole other assortment of doll crafting materials. That was on a good day. Pay no mind to the fact that I had spent the better half of the night ripping apart the entire place. If you didn't know what I did for a living, you'd think I was a serial killer.

“I need you to get naked. Stand right where you are and let me sketch you.”

“Totally naked?”

The way the words squeaked from his throat was like music to my ears.

“You want the doll to be super detailed, don't you? I can't make your face look just like you, and then half ass what's below the belt.”

The flush that stained his face was absolutely magical, and I could feel my exhaustion high coming back. Only a few more minutes now.

I watched Marco pull his sweater off and I felt like a kid at Christmas. His body was more magnificent than my brain had given me hope of ever creating. Under what appeared to be soft speckled skin was all hard lines and muscle. Every inch of him was coated in the same markings that dotted his cheeks which right now were a magnificent rosy red. And I was right there, front row and center to take in the entire show. I allowed my fingers to brush along the contours of his back, tracing the shoulder blades, spine, and pin pointing every freckle I could find. His body shuddered at the contact. The situation was almost euphoric. I could feel him. Touch him. Trace him. If I leaned in close enough I could smell him, hear the air rushing through his teeth, feel his muscles tense up as I placed a palm on a pectoral muscle. These weren't sensations I could get from the other dolls. For a split second I almost had regrets for wanting to turn him into a statue.  
But then as I watched the muscles of his stomach contract with his movement, I thought of all of the people I'd seen around him. All of the people he'd smiled at. Shaken hands with. All of the women he'd probably gone out with, come home with, woken up with in his bed. The cat who got to feel the way his fingers brushed along its spine. I was reminded of the unfairness of it all. Why did they all get to see Marco? How come Marco interacted with them? Why? Didn't they know that he was mine?

“Ouch! Jean, watch your nails.”

Both hands were on his exposed hips, my nails sinking into the soft juncture between his abdomen and bone.

“I'm so sorry, Marco.”

The words shook on my breath. Even I could tell nerves were going to be getting the better of me within a few minutes if I didn't strike while the iron was hot.  
It had to be done. To make Marco mine, it had to be done. To keep this perfection, to be able to go back to work, to be normal, I had to do this.

“I am so, so, sorry.”

“What are you-”

I grabbed the sculpting knife and aimed for his jugular. One small incision was all I would need. It wouldn't harm him. He'd be warm for a while and I could enjoy him, take the few moments I had to pose him, and then he would be mine forever. My life sized doll. My Marco.

“I _knew_ it!”

The words confused me and maybe that's why he overtook me so easily. My hesitation at his statement and the fact that I was exhausted leaving me immobile for a split second.  
It was a struggle, though. His grip was even stronger than the other day when he grabbed my arm, and I knew again I'd have a bruise. A last gift from him.

However, this wasn't going as I had planned. He had the upper hand. I felt the blade fall from my fingers as I stared completely bewildered into the brown eyes I'd grown so fond of. I expected fear. Confusion. Determination. _Something._ Instead I was staring at the face of pure bliss. Excitement. Relief?  
He was smiling, his stunning flash of teeth the last thing I saw before everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the amazing support you've shown with the first chapter! I meant to get this chapter out a lot sooner, but real life got in the way. I'm going to try to keep things pretty steady as far as updates go from here on out, but we'll see what happens.  
> All information about the fic is usually posted on my tumblr, please feel free to follow me if you don't already ^__^  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/racy-riren
> 
> You can track the fic tag on tumblr too! Updates and my commentary are posted there.  
> fic: play with me
> 
> Thank you all again!
> 
> Chapter 2 is all Marco POV  
> Chapter 3 will be back to Jean

Walking down the dark, damp alley way I heard a sound that sent a thrill down my spine. A glorious noise that some how managed to rise above the din of the night time city. One that excited me. It broke through the blackness as shrill piercing music to my ears and it sent my blood pulsing faster through my veins. I tried to hurry to catch up with it. My feet were pounding hard on the concrete, my breath coming out in harsh puffs in the cold. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The burning was exhilarating and I pushed myself to keep going. Where was it? Why wasn't I getting closer? It didn't matter how hard I ran, I couldn't catch up. Some where in the back of my mind, I knew who I would find at the end of the trail of sound. It would be him. He was waiting for me and I needed to find him. What if he was being hurt again? What if he needed me like last time? What if someone else was touching him? I could feel my legs going faster, the sound growing louder. I was almost there. Almost. So close.

My hand slapped hard against my cell phone that was currently shrieking at full blast next to my head. I knew that ring tone. It was the one I set specifically for him. Bleary eyed and groggy from the dream I had just pulled myself from, I grabbed it and answered the call. His voice was the only one I wanted to hear at three AM. If anyone else dared to wake me, I'd kill them. Morning person or not, I needed my eight hours to be functional. But for him, I'd move mountains. Which is a pretty accurate description of what you have to do to wake me in the first place. He'd probably dialed my number at least a dozen times in a row by now.

“Jean?”

“I need you to come in. I need to see you in person to be able to do this.”

He sounded like he'd just crawled his way out of hell. His voice was raspy and the tone he was using made it sound like he hadn't slept since I'd asked him to make the special order. I allowed a slow grin to tug at my lips as I ran a hand down my face.  
My poor Jean. I didn't take pleasure from stressing him, but it was necessary if I was ever going to push him to his limit. I knew his capabilities. But I wanted to see how much farther he was willing to go with his talents.

“Yeah? I can be there first thing in the morning.”

That must have been what he was wanting to hear because I heard the sound of the 'click' as he hung up without another word.

I gave a quick glance to the glowing clock on my nightstand. I had to meet up with Armin by seven for our usual Friday coffee, but after that I could dash straight over to the shop and be there by eight. I had made sure when placing the order that I didn't have any appointments scheduled, leaving me totally free if Jean did need me. Jean wouldn't be opening the door before eleven. That would give us plenty of time. Excitement bubbled up in me at the thought of being alone with him. Granted, we were usually alone. People rarely ever stepped foot into Kirschtein's Dolls. Either they were too frightened of the grim exterior that Jean never bothered to make presentable, the soulless glassy eyes of the dolls posed in the window, or of the shop owner himself.

Jean rarely spoke to anyone. Most of the orders that kept the shop open came from online, and the few occasions he did have to converse with a customer it was usually with a scowl, clipped words, and growling. Which was fine with me. I personally preferred Jean to be reclusive and anti-social. As long as it wasn't with me. The less interaction Jean had with the outside world, the more I got to keep him to myself. Already, I was thrilled at the way his eyes would always stray to me. Whenever someone would stop me outside the shop I could feel him watching. The gaze so intense I felt holes burning into my skull. I could tell he would scrutinize the other person with me, seething with overwhelming emotions. He was even jealous towards that poor little cat who lived in the alley. That was one of the things I admired about Jean, though. He was so incredibly easy to read. He'd try so hard to hide his emotions, but he'd never succeed. Not with me. Jean Kirschtein was an open book, and he was my absolute favorite story.

I managed to fall back asleep for a few more hours with a smile plastered on my face. My dreams were no longer of dark alley ways and a noise that would lead me to him, but of me already there with him. Taking his hand. Holding him closer. Watching the way his lips moved. It was a very eventful morning by the time my alarm rang at six, I'd definitely be needing a shower.

The morning commute to the local coffee shop was always the biggest pain in the ass. It's hard living in a town where everyone knows your name, because it means that you're usually stopped every so many feet and obligated to smile and make light conversation before pulling yourself away and attempting to make it to your destination.  
The smiling is probably the hardest part, but practice makes perfect and lying with a straight face is an art.

“Good Morning, Marco!”

“How are you today, Marco?”

“Lovely weather.”

Smile. Laugh. Wave. Be friendly. Be polite. Help the old woman with her groceries. Offer to pay the old man's parking meter. I am a genuinely good person. An outstanding citizen. Everybody loves me. That just makes my life that much easier.  
Finally after a morning of stop and go, I was able to make it to the coffee house a few minutes before Armin. If I didn't associate the smell of resin dust with my favorite scent because of my favorite person, coffee would definitely be it. There was something about the dark aroma and the bitter taste that I could identify with on a strange cosmic level. Or maybe I just felt like being deep this morning. Regardless, I ordered my drink and took a seat, watching the door for a certain blonde haired, blue eyed, angel of justice.

“Sorry I'm so late! I had to stop by the station. Erwin had a file for me.”

Disheveled and out of breath as he slid into the booth, I had to smile at Armin's choice of words. I'm sure Erwin Smith had something for him, I'm not so sure it was something as boring as a file for a new round of cases. Not with the way his hair stuck out at odd angles in the back and the bottom buttons of his usually pristine shirt were in disarray. But we all had our secrets. And who was I to judge?

“That's alright, really. I just got here myself.”

Something I enjoyed about Armin was that we could sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. There was no need to fill the space with unnecessary chatter or polite conversation. We were perfectly fine just enjoying each other's company in the morning. Sometimes he brought his work to the table and sometimes I brought mine, letting him look over the portrait photographs of a family order, a kid's senior photos, or an engagement and wedding set. I enjoyed watching people so much that I had turned it into my living after High School. Watching people through a lens the way I did helped to give insight into the way people told lies. Forcing a smile for a camera, or genuinely smiling. It was so easy to tell who was happy and who was just showing their teeth like a dog baring it's fangs.

A few minutes into breakfast I noticed the way Armin was sitting, holding his mug and fidgeting slightly. While our usual silence was alright, he looked like he had things he wanted to say. So, I decided to start the conversation to ease him of whatever anxiety that was plaguing him. I am a good person.

“So, how is Eren doing?”

I hid a smile around a gulp of coffee as I watched his body tense at the question. Clearly this wasn't the topic he was hoping to start out with. He and Eren Jaeger had been friends since childhood, and recently both of Eren's parents had died in what was reported as a head on collision. However, the second car was never found. But the media didn't seem to touch on that part.

“Oh... He's alright. He and Mikasa are just trying to pick up the pieces right now.”

“She joined the force, didn't she?”

“Yeah. She graduated top in her class.”

“Will Eren be joining too?”

I saw Armin's eye twitch slightly, his demeanor becoming stressed by the question. I liked Armin, but every once in a while it was fun to push his buttons on certain things. Being the holder of the secrets for his little ring of friends had to be hard on him. Especially when the secrets he was keeping weren't actually secrets to anyone who knew where to ask questions and listen to conversations. Watching people was a hobby. Gaining inside knowledge is a passion.

It wasn't an accident that had killed Dr. Jaeger and his wife. A car accident doesn't leave a body mutilated and almost beyond recognition. But a crazed son with a warped sense of justice certainly does. Eren Jaeger had killed his parents. The only one who openly knew this supposed truth was sitting right in front of me. The irony being that he was the lap dog to the police department, gaining the title because he wanted to protect his best friend and now Eren's own sister was going into the force, gunning for answers when she didn't know they were all under the same roof.

“I... don't know. He hasn't really mentioned anything.”

“It would be a shame for him to waste his talent.”

I took another long sip of coffee, watching Armin over the brim of the cup. He'd settle down in a moment and change the subject. He didn't like telling lies and I was pushing dangerously close to information I wasn't supposed to have. Like how Eren was already on the police force, but in his own special division. 'Humanity's Hope' is a message that is left at every crime scene in some strange gruesome way. A calling card that the investigators looking into the grotesque deaths always overlook because who cares about the body of someone who was already hurting people? The murders are covered up by an underground division because the only people who are being brutally murdered are dangerous criminals. Like the doctor and his wife, killing innocent people for no other reason than the thrill of it. Eren found out, couldn't handle what his own parents had done, and so he destroyed them.

I'm a simple family photographer. Eren and I had met a few times through acquaintance with Armin, each time we were both friendly and got along well. I like Eren. But I've never been convinced that Eren really likes me. I'm not the type that he prefers to befriend. I listen to whispers too well and retain information too easily. Plus, I guess I'm technically a liar. I smile when I'm not happy. I show remorse when I could careless. He'd rather follow after someone who doesn't like to hide their displeasure with people. Short. Foul mouthed and inherently dangerous to anyone or anything that crosses their path. It's the same man who has sent me a few unfriendly messages in the past. We don't get along either.

Trost's Underground is a very easy place to understand from the outside. Levi is king, but answers to Erwin Smith of the police department. Eren is Levi's lap dog. Armin stays close to Erwin to protect Eren. And Mikasa is the unknowing pawn who is doing nothing but chasing lies and thinking she's getting close to answers.  
I enjoy the stories that come out of the Underground. Certain places in the city are the best places to go to get a good bit of gossip and find out who is placed where for that week's game of cat and mouse. A friendly photographer is of no consequence to anyone like Eren Jaeger or Levi, so at the very least I can continue leading the life that I have for the past few years. Even knowing what I know.

I checked my watch quickly as I put down my now empty cup. I would have to go soon if I was going to get to the shop.

“Armin, sorry to cut this short-”

“Actually, Marco... Before you go, I have a question for you.”

I gave him a smile and a nod to continue. It wasn't often Armin asked anything of me, especially not so stressed out.

“You spend a lot of time at Kirschtein's Dolls, right?”

My heart stopped cold in my chest and the smile on my face faltered just slightly as I relaxed back into my seat. What would Armin need to know that for?

“I've been good friends with the owner for a while. Why do you ask?”

My voice didn't break. It was still upbeat. Still friendly. He didn't need to know about Jean.

“I have a photo I want you to see. This was sent to the station yesterday morning.”

Armin produced a photo from the manilla envelope that made him late, it appeared to be a blown up version of just a simple colored print from a cheap kodak. The sight of the shitty quality almost made my stomach turn.  
It was a picture of a resin doll. Blonde hair with blue glass eyes staring back at the camera. Her mouth was small and partially open, displaying a set of teeth in almost a grimace. She was dressed like a queen, all white lace with a red cape and matching golden and satin crown. Her hands were molded around a scepter and she was posed holding it to her chest.

“She's... cute?”

“She is.

“Why was this sent to the station?”

My heart had gone back to beating normally and I made sure to steady my breathing and compose my face into one of pure confusion.

“We were confused at first too. We thought it was just a misprinted address or a prank until this morning when we found this...”

Armin pulled out another picture, this time it was a professional one from the crime scene photographers. It was of a girl, around her late teens or early twenties, dressed just like the doll from the photo. Only she was attached to strings that held her suspended from what appeared to be the ceiling. Her head was thrown back slightly, her mouth opened in what was probably her final scream or plea. Her blue eyes were as glassy as the doll's. Across her white dress, painted in blood were the words _Long live the Queen_.

My heart skipped a beat the sight. She was beautifully posed. The photo had come out almost as stunning as a portrait. As beautiful in death as she probably was in life. It was almost enchanting.

“I'm sorry. I still don't understand. What does this have to do with the shop?”

I continued to smile in confusion at Armin as I rested my chin on the palm of my hand. I knew what I was looking at. All it did was succeed in pissing me off. Rubbing me the wrong way. As much as I admired their form, I didn't appreciate where this off the record interrogation was going.

“The doll isn't one that has been found in any database we've searched. We believe its a custom job and not a coincidence that it looks like the body."

  
“You think it's a calling card?”

“We do. And the only place within Trost that would sell something like this would be that shop.”

Every nerve in my body screamed with total outrage and anger, but on the outside I simply nodded at Armin as I stood up to drop my cup into the garbage. Cool, calm, and composed.

“If you're questioning me as a witness, Armin... I can honestly say that I've never seen that doll a day in my life.”

This wasn't a lie. I had never seen Jean cast a doll like that and it certainly wasn't one of my collection. However, taking one last quick glance at the photo as Armin popped it back into its proper place, I could feel the hatred seething within me. My muscles were tight with the stress of it. My blood was boiling in my veins. I knew what I was looking at. I knew without a doubt, with just one simple glance at the photo, this wasn't Jean's work. Someone was beginning a very dangerous game and I knew now that I needed to see Jean's potential more than ever. I was suddenly pleased with myself for calling in the special order sooner than I had originally planned.

“I would never question you like this. I just wanted your input. There will be someone stopping by Jean's shop sometime this week to speak with him.”

As I said goodbye to Armin, his words were ringing in my ears, causing my irritation to spike past the point of no return. Investigators were coming by the shop. Someone was coming to talk to Jean. My Jean. They were going to investigate my Jean and take up my time with him to do so. Someone had set this up. Someone had staged this murder to make it look like something more substantial than what it was. Whoever they were, they were sloppy. They didn't have all of the details. I knew Jean's work and this wasn't it. Which left me with one clear thought among the thousands of others ricocheting off my skull. That body and doll weren't just a murder. It was a warning. A message was being left. Whoever had left it was walking into very dangerous territory.

I made it to Jean's shop around the time I had expected. I don't know how my feet had carried me to the door and I was sure my perky exterior from earlier this morning had been totally shattered. If anyone had attempted to talk to me on my way here, I had brushed them off. My smile didn't reach my eyes and I could feel the anger seething through my muscles. I was very particular about what was mine and people touching what was mine. Jean is mine. Jean has always been mine and now someone was putting him in harms way. I'd would always protect what was mine. But first, I wanted to see just how far Jean was willing to go with me. How far his talents would stretch, especially under extreme pressure. I ran a hand over my face to try to wipe away the impending sense of anger and dread that had clawed its way into my gut. I didn't care about the strangers in the street, but Jean couldn't see me like this. My smile made him smile. He'd never admit to it, and I was more than sure it was an unconscious tick on his part, but I enjoyed the slight upturn of his lips when he was looking at me. And today of all days, I wasn't about to ruin anything.

I went to reach for the door and was surprised when it opened on its own, I was even more surprised by the man who had opened it. The phone conversation I had had with him in the middle of the night was only the tip of the iceberg. Jean really did look like he had crawled out of the pits of hell. His sandy blonde hair was sticking out all over his head like he had continuously ripped at it. His tawny eyes weren't as sharp as usual, instead they looked sunken in. He probably hadn't eaten in days, too caught up in his work. The ratty jeans he wore to cast resin in were hanging from his hips, his shirt that was always stained appeared to have new clumsy stains littered across the chest. A five-o-clock shadow across his jaw told me that he hadn't even bothered to look in a mirror. The thought of it thrilled me. Jean so worked up over me that he had forgotten to take care of himself. I could feel my heart flutter in my chest and it instantly brightened up my entire demeanor, washing away the grief and angst that had followed me around like a heavy cloud since the conversation with Armin.

“You look like hell, Jean. Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. Just tired. Follow me.”

His words were clipped and he turned his back to me to lead me past the curtain and down the cellar stairs. His hand had slipped so easily into mine that it was like we had been made for each other. Two pieces coming together to make a whole entity. I took the opportunity to enjoy the comfort that came with the simple touch, lacing my fingers with his so that our palms touched. His was rough from all of the work he did with his hands and even sleep deprived and malnourished, the strength of his grip was exhilarating. His palm was slightly bigger, but my fingers were longer and more slender. I took great joy in brushing my thumb along his cracked knuckles, memorizing the feel of them before they would be taken away from me again. I could feel the heat rising to my face, my whole body growing hot just because of a simple held hand. Jean rarely touched me. The few times he did it was by accident and he had always acted like the contact burned him. Apparently the lack of sleep had left him with downed defenses, or he would have never touched me this way. I could get used to it.

All too soon we were down in the work room, his hand leaving mine as he walked a few steps away. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so incredibly empty when my palm was no longer pressed to his. To stifle the new kind of pain welling up, I took a moment to look around the room. The entire place was a wreck.

“Sorry, it's cold down here for the curing time.”

Of course, I knew that. My look of surprise had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with attempting to keep the absolute joy off of my face. It was clear he had been so incredibly worked up that he had to take it out on... well, everything. There wasn't a single table that wasn't totally in shambles. Broken dolls, ripped up sketches, thrown tools. It was a disaster. And all I wanted to do was shout my joy.  
Instead, I cleared my throat, running the hand he had held only a moment ago along my arm. It was tingling from where we made contact and I wanted to hang onto the feeling a bit longer.

“So, how is this going to work?”

“I need you to get naked. Stand right where you are and let me sketch you.”

Be still my erratically beating heart, I'd clearly died and went to some kind of ass backwards heaven.

“Totally naked?”

I wasn't proud of the way my voice broke on that question, but I had to know what he was expecting before I all but tore the clothes off of my body. The soft and constricting fabric was nothing but offensive at this point.

“You want the doll to be super detailed, don't you? I can't make your face look just like you, and then half ass what's below the belt.”

I could feel my heart beating in my ears and the clothes were coming off before he was even done speaking those words.  
If Jean Kirschtein wanted to see me naked, he could have every glorious inch. But it would be under the condition that he continued to look at me with that heated gaze. His eyes had their luscious glow back to them and they were praising me more with every bit of skin I was revealing. In that moment I had a very good understanding of what a rabbit probably felt like when being cornered by a starving wolf. If it was Jean, I would happily be devoured.

My breath caught in my throat before sliding out through my teeth when he laid his palm against my chest. That familiar heat from earlier rushing back through me and lighting every inch of me on fire. It followed his fingers as they trailed along my body. He was tracing me. Sizing me up. Drinking in every detail of my body with his finger tips and all I wanted was more. More. More touching. More of those god damn nails that were currently pricking the skin of my hips in a way that was just delightful to me. But he didn't know that particular detail yet.

“Ouch! Jean, watch your nails.”

Sink them deeper. He hadn't even broken skin yet. That was when the real fun would begin.

“I'm so sorry, Marco.”

“I'm so, so, sorry.”

I had to blink a couple of times to pull myself back to reality. His voice sounded wrecked, but we hadn't even done anything yet.

“What are you-”

The flash of silver in the light caught my attention before I had even fully recovered from the pawing and reflex had me gripping Jean's wrist just as quickly as he had raised his arm.  
Realization dawned on me a second later and a whole new kind of excitement was coursing through my veins. Jean had just tried to stab me. This was everything I had ever wanted. This was so much better than what I had envisioned for us. His strength was wavering against me and I could feel his knees shake as he tried to regain the upper hand. I wasn't allowing it. Not now. Not when everything I had ever hoped to be true was revealing itself to me all within a matter of seconds.

“I knew it!”

My words confused him and the hesitation because of it gave me just the right opening to disarm him completely. The sculpting scalpel falling to the cement floor with an echoing clang.  
As much as I would have loved to continue this power play and see just how far Jean would go, he was tired, and we were running out of time. Who knew when the investigation would start?  
It pained me to do it. I wanted so badly to just explain everything to him. Let him go back to touching whatever part of me fascinated him most as I filled him in on every single dark detail that surrounded this town.  
But I couldn't. Not if investigators were going to be at the door and it was clear Jean was new to this.  
As I slammed my hand into the back of his head and watched his eyes close, my heart sank. I held his body tight in my arms and let the laugh that I had been beating down all day come bubbling out of me at an alarming rate.  
Maybe there wasn't anything to worry about after all. Maybe the photos Armin showed me weren't some kind of cryptic message.  
All this meant was that Jean and I were more compatible than ever. We were the same kind of person.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to everyone who has been waiting for this latest update! It's been in the works now for a while, but there was no way I was getting it up before Katsucon happened.  
> Thank you all for your patience and the continued support! I enjoy each and every comment, Kudo, and bookmark. It means a lot.  
> I'm playing with a few different styles as we introduce more character and more background to the plot. Hopefully it won't be too confusing!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the name Racy-Riren and you can keep track of all of my author notes and when the updates will be under the tag fic: Play With Me
> 
> Also if you didn't know, Lutte (Lootibles on Tumblr) runs a writers chat every friday on tiny chat that welcomes everyone to come and talk, share what you've been working on, or just hang out. I'm always there and its a good time! If you have some free time on friday nights please feel free to join us!

Armin pushed open the door to Trost's police station, a heavy weight having settled on his shoulders in the last few hours since his breakfast with Marco. His teeth worried at his lower lip as he walked into Erwin's office, placing the envelope onto his desk.

“Is it done?”

Erwin looked up from his paperwork and immediately his eyes flew to where Armin's lip was stuck between his teeth. The boy immediately let it go and cleared his throat to try to beat down the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. He had often gotten a lecture from Erwin about what a bad habit the nervous lip biting was. That lecture usually ending in Armin bent over this very desk with the door locked and the shades drawn. Much like he had been earlier this morning. He shook his head to clear the memories, deciding to stay on topic.

“Yeah. I showed it to him.”

“And?”

“It was exactly what you assumed it would be. He claimed to not have a clue.”

“Mm...”

Erwin's finger tapped on the edge of the desk as he made a noise of understanding at the back of his throat. He was lost in thought and Armin took advantage of his distracted state to admire the massive hulk of a man sitting behind the desk. A well pressed suit with a matching tie spread across the bands of muscles that made up Erwin's chest. His hair fell in his eyes, which was a new sight from his usually clean and perfected style. Their morning exercises from earlier must have left it like that and Armin secretly loved the fact that he had made it a disheveled mess.

“What do you think is going to happen now?”

Erwin cocked one perfect eyebrow at the boy and stopped his finger from tapping a hole in the oak desk.

“Now, we wait. We'll send Mikasa over to talk to the shop owner and look for any signs of suspicious activity.”

Armin felt his heart drop into his stomach. He didn't want to get Mikasa mixed up in all of this, but he knew he had no choice. She had joined the force and this was her job.  
As he turned to leave, he paused at the door allowing his eyes to drift back to the imposing man behind the desk.

“I really do think that Jean is innocent.”

Erwin flashed him an award winning smile that made his go knees weak and his tongue swell up. Erwin Smith was the one man who could make all of Armin's hard work and vast knowledge fly right out the window with only a small glance in his direction. It was a skill the older man took advantage of more often than not.

“I know you do, Armin.”

Walking from Erwin's office, Armin tossed a quick glance at the clock. He had a few hours left before he needed to meet with Eren and Levi and a whole lot of planning left to do.  
With a sigh he rested back in his desk and eyed the stack of paperwork piling up. His job was never going to be finished.

 

\------------------------------

 

When I was small, I used to get the shit beat out of me. At school there was a group of snot nosed fucks who thought that you weren't a real boy if you liked to play with dolls. Well, when your mother is a master doll sculptor, you don't get much choice in the matter. Regardless of your gender. But try explaining that to a group of eleven year old ass-wipes.  
Every day the beatings were endless. The same pattern repeating itself over and over. Wake up, go to school, get the shit knocked out of you, come home a limping bleeding mess.  
I'd lost a lot of teeth that way and there was always a bruise blooming somewhere along my face. Be it my eye, my jaw, or my lip.  
My mother would fret. My father... well, he is an entirely different memory. And this went on for several years. Until something finally happened to break the pattern.

“Hello! My name is M---”

I can't for the life of me remember the kid. I've probably tried a million times over the years. I don't remember what he looks like. I can't remember his name. I just remember thinking that he was just another snot nosed fuck like the rest of them in the beginning.

“M---! Come play with us!”

“No thanks.”

He was a loner just like I was. He didn't want to play with anyone else during recess. Usually I'd watch him hanging out by the fence, trying to coax small animals closer to him. He rarely succeeded. The few occasions he actually did, I'd see him rush to the wash room before lessons with a gap toothed grin on his face, hands a sticky dirty mess. When he was assigned group work in class, he'd find a way to make a scene in the group so that he could work on his own.  
Different. He was definitely different.

“Hey, Jeanboy! Where's your prissy little doll today!”

The fucker slammed me so hard against the metal bars of the jungle gym that I could feel my teeth rattle in my skull.

“Get the fuck off of me!”

I'd swing and sometimes my hand would connect with a jaw, a nose, or a mouth. My legs would kick and I would hope I was aiming for groins, ribs, whatever would get them the fuck away from me. But even as tough as I thought I was, despite my pre-puberty baby roundness, three against one weren't good odds.

In the middle of a scrap one day, I had been bucking, kicking, and smashing my fist into the soft flesh of adolescent stomachs and getting the shit kicked out of me in return when all of a sudden my vision went red. At first I thought it was me. I thought they had knocked me so hard in the head that they'd shaken something loose. I tasted copper in my mouth and I was pretty sure a tooth was chipped because when I spat at them something went flying.  
But just as soon as I saw that flash of color, suddenly the rain of fists and sneakered feet stopped pummeling me. I had been granted a reprieve from being the punching bag.

When I looked up I saw the new kid's back was facing me. A stick in his hand, smacking against his dirty palm as he tried to be intimidating. He actually managed it with the way he stood a bit taller than the others. He had lanky arms and legs that he would still need to grow into, but for now he did a good impression of an impenetrable wall. The slow murmur of the assholes' voices made my ears ring. Or maybe that was because I was pretty sure I had another concussion.

“Why don't you pick on someone else?”

“Oh? Are you volunteering, Crater Face?”

“...Sure.”

The way he uttered that simple word had sent a cold shiver down my spine. It sounded like the most terrifying word ever spoken. Slow. Deliberate. The one syllable drawn out in an amused hiss as if being beaten by these morons were the most comical concept in the world. But I couldn't bring myself to care. It wasn't directed at me for a change which meant I could take a moment to relax.  
I watched in sick fascination as the wall of a boy held up the stick he had been carrying. The end was broken off in a point and I noticed that it looked red and sticky at the tip. Like he had been plunging it into something that was filled with pulp. The red that had crossed my vision had been from this. To get their attention away from me he had rolled up as silently as a ghost and slashed that pointed spear across the backs of their legs. I took notice of the red oozing from under their shorts from the shallow wounds it must have left. This kid was a madman.

“Fine! Then you're ne-”

My savior lunged forward before the brat could finish his sentence and I watched as the pointed end of the make-shift spear went right into the soft spot of one of my assailant's shoulders.  
They screamed like banshees. Tears and blood spilling as they ran for a teacher, a laugh bubbling up from the boy as he rubbed the end of the stick in the grass before turning to regard me.

“Hi.”

I watched in awe, my eyes wide. Not with fear like they should have been. But instead with pure fascination. He definitely was a madman. But anyone that was going to give those fucks a run for their money was okay in my book. They had done worse things to me and I wasn't one for sympathy.

“They won't bother you anymore, Jean.”

It was true, they didn't. After that they didn't even so much as look at me the wrong way, let alone say or do anything.  
I took his hand when he offered it to me and I remember it being warm and coated in sweat and the sticky mess that had covered the end of the stick. I had to scrub my hand raw to get it all off of my skin before my mom saw.  
At the time I took a good hard look at the boy's features. But for some reason now that I try to reflect on it they're all fuzzy. Like an image thats been blurred. I try and try to recall the boy who changed my entire world that day and all I get is a bright flash of light and a migraine. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe what boils through me.  
But a part of me wants to believe that he had a smile that could light up a room. Soft brown eyes that glinted from the excitement of his adventure. And a splash of freckles across his cheeks that reminded me of the stars in the sky.

“My name is Mar-...”

 

\-------------

 

Marco....

“Jean? Jean, are you okay? I know I didn't hit you that hard.”

My eyes popped open and my entire body jerked backwards. Pain flashed through my skull like a fire devouring everything in it's path. The dream I had been having moments ago, vanishing and crumbling to ash. I could feel myself tipping and was mildly confused as to why, until a hard hand caught my shoulder and righted me. Apparently I wasn't in my bed.

“Whoa! Whoa, you're okay. Sorry. But you've been out like a light for hours.”

Marco's smiling face was in front of me and I had to blink a few times to remember how the fuck I had gotten here. How he got here. Why was I in a chair? Why were my hands tied? Kinky shit had crossed my mind before, but this was a new turn of events. My legs felt like that fucking static noise on a dead TV channel and I tried to kick them back to life but only succeeded in making it feel like sand was filling my shoes.

“What...What the fuck!?”

And then it hit me. The custom order. My insomnia. The insanity. Calling Marco in. Trying to kill... Oh my god, I tried to kill Marco.  
Panic set in and I tried desperately to free my hands from the tight bond of the rope. The fucker had to be military trained or something. Boy scouts didn't teach you to tie like this.

“Let me go!”

“Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen. Tea?”

I don't think my brows have ever shot up faster into my hair line. I had tried to kill him only a few hours ago, he knocked me out and took me captive, and now the fucker was offering me tea like he was the host of a house party and this was perfectly normal. Leave it to Marco to be a regular Betty fucking Crocker.

“You're absolutely fucking insane. Let me go!”

I rocked the chair back and forth, trying to either tip it or get some give on the ropes. All I was doing was giving my hands more bruises as I watched Marco pour hot water into two mugs on my counter.  
He had some how managed to drag my unconscious ass upstairs into the apartment above the shop. Soft boyish Marco had muscles hidden under that fucking gay ass sweater and for a second I had to wonder if he lugged around limp bodies as a side job. Photographers aren't ripped like that. Photographers don't know the exact place to hit to knock you out. They certainly don't have any need to tie Navy Seal grade knots.

“Mm. I'm pretty sure that is the pot calling the kettle black, Jean.”

He smiled as he pulled up a chair along side mine. Setting the mugs down, he kicked the legs on my chair back into place. The next greeting was him grinding his heel into the tops of my toes to keep me from squirming.  
It didn't hurt. It was just enough pressure to get his point across. He wanted my attention and that meant no more attempting the wiggle worm effect. It wasn't working anyway. Some how the ropes had just gotten tighter.

“I don't know who you actually are or what you want with me, but I'm innocent.”

He looked hurt at my words. It sent a bolt of pain straight through my chest. A frown tugging his lips down in disapproval before he took a slow sip of his tea.

“That hurts me, Jean. You know exactly who I am. And you are anything but innocent.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

At this point the words were ground through my teeth and they tasted like bile on my tongue. I was lying. He knew I was lying. Because some how this man could see through everything I did. He could turn those big doe eyes on me and it was like every single secret I had ever kept had come unraveled in front of him.  
Marco Bodt read me like a book and I had no idea how he had learned my language so easily.

“You didn't open the box, did you?”

He sighed when I just stared at him with a blank expression and his long fingers came up to rub at his temples as if I were the one giving him the migraine and it wasn't the other way around.

“...What box?”

“The one I brought in the other day. The poor thing. It's probably ruined by now.”

A cold shudder ran down my spine and I could feel my brow break out in a cold sweat. Marco the curious mail currier. Always asking about the boxes. The boxes that just happened to show up on my door step whenever he showed up. The mailing address was never the same once the work was done. But on more than one occasion I was to send the finished product to a PO Box. I never knew the customer. The orders always came in over email and we never spoke face to face. As long as they were sending me the ingredients, who was I to judge and say no? They always paid higher than normal anyway.

Marco hummed into the sip of his tea, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. I watched his long lashes touch his cheek bone and had to draw my eyes away. Now really wasn't the time to be admiring his features.

“Innocent people don't make dolls out of flesh and bone, Jean.”

My jaw tightened and I could feel my heart skip a beat in my chest. He knew.

“What was in the box, Marco?”

My voice rasped. Suddenly my tongue was dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth like it had been molded there. Everything was coming undone right in front of me.   
No. That isn't exactly right.  
All of the clues had been there. I'm just too fucking thick headed to notice.

“You haven't seen that stray cat around lately, have you?”  
  
“...The cat is in the box...”  
  
The statement came out as a total deadpanned expression.

“I thought it was cute, personally. But I didn't like the way you looked at it. So, I thought it would be better if it didn't offend you anymore. Dolls don't offend you. And you don't have to feed them or clean up after them. He was going to be the perfect pet.”

Yeah, and we could have named him Schrodinger while we were at it. Perfect.

Marco had been my anonymous benefactor the entire time. Sending me pieces of flesh, bone, hair, sometimes I'd even get a few finger nails. I never thought anything of it. The customer had weird tastes. I assumed it was some kind of fetish. I could feel my stomach rising into my throat and had to swallow to stave off the gag reflex.

“Who were the others?”

“Well, I can't tell you that. Secrets are secrets, Jean. And you've been keeping plenty from me.”

I don't know exactly when the look in his eyes changed, but as I stared at them now I wasn't seeing the pools of innocent happiness that I usually associated with my Marco. Instead what stared back at me were two dark pits. Hard and cold. All of the lines of his face contouring from soft warm flesh to hard jutting lines. It was like he had flicked a switch and I was meeting this Marco for the first time.  
He was sexy as hell. All dominance. Commanding attention and sucking the air out of the room as if it all belonged to him and you had to plead to have even a shallow breath.

“You're right. I was just supposed to make it casual conversation. 'Hey, Marco. Want to see what's in the box today? You might be surprised. Yesterday it was a dehydrated eye and a couple of teeth. Today, who knows!'”

I snorted at him and rolled my eyes, finally able to peel them away from this new version of the man in front of me. He was a stranger and I wasn't sure if I was thrilled or terrified by the idea of him. Excited, though. Definitely excited.

He must not have been too happy with the idea of me looking away from him. A second later I was staring up into those harsh eyes and I could feel pain blossoming along my scalp where he held my hair tight in his grip.  
I winced, my eyes screwing shut from the bright flash of pain that broke through my skull. A migraine was in the forcast for later.  
His grip loosened, but those slender fingers stayed curled around the soft strands of my hair. His voice came out soothing, not at all what I had expected from him a moment before.

“I'm sorry. I forgot.”

Yeah, that makes two of us.

“You're not telling me the whole truth, Jean.”

“I don't know what truth you're talking about, Marco.”

“Did you kill Historia Reiss?”

Finally able to open my eyes, I arched a brow at him. Who the fuck?

“I don't know anyone named Historia.”

“Well, she changed her name to Krista to try to escape a lot of...personal... issues. If you didn't kill her, we have a bigger problem than I originally thought on our hands.”

“I've never killed anybody. You were supposed to be my first.”

Just like that, the darkness gave way to light, and soft Marco was back. Clutching at his chest and blushing up a storm like we were middle schoolers and I had just asked him to go steady with me.  
That thought process brought some sort of flash back to the surface, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. Leaving behind another blinding hot pain to shoot through my skull.

He would have been my first and my last. He's the only one I desire to captivate so completely. To hold close for as long as I last. I have no interest in anyone or anything else.

“I'm sorry. I can't be your first that way. I'd miss interacting with you too much.”

I tried to ignore how those words sent my heart into overdrive. As we had been having our riveting conversation, I had managed to turn my head into the touch of his palm. Happy to lean into the soft brushing of his fingers through my hair. Now I knew how that stupid fucking cat felt. It was just as euphoric as I had imagined it'd be.

“We don't have a lot of time.”

I hummed my acknowledgement of his words into his skin. I could feel his pulse against my lips. Warm and thrumming. His source of life pressed right there and vulnerable if I felt like sinking my teeth into it. Opening it up and tasting it. Suddenly I was sympathizing with Dracula.

He removed his hand from my hair and took a step back. He was frowning at me with his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother.

“Are you listening to me, Jean?”

Not a word, Marco. I was too busy listening to your blood storming through your body.

“Its hard to listen when my hands are losing circulation.”

I wiggled my fingers in a vain attempt to get my point across and it made him laugh. A small chuckle that burst through his lips like a symphony of bright noise.  
How could I have ever wanted to take that away? It would have been better just to hold him captive. I think I had an old dog cage some where. We could have made it comfortable.

His hands slammed onto the top of the back of the chair, drawing my attention back to him. He had snuck into my lap, clearly unhappy with the fact that my brain had wandered off away from whatever important information he was trying to relay to me. What did some dying bitch with an identity crisis have to do with me anyway?

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Jean.”

His lips were so close to mine that I could feel the warm breath of his words across my skin. I was suddenly all ears. Well, ears and I could feel a distinct pooling of the blood to one other very important and very uncomfortable area of my body. He would need to talk fast. My brain was draining quickly in favor of another head. One that just so happened to be pressed smack dab between those long legs that felt the need to squeeze me tight between the thighs.

“I'm listening.”

The words sounded like gravel spilling out of my throat.

“Someone is playing a very dangerous game with me, Jean. I thought it had been you, but clearly I was wrong.”

Don't be wrong about me. I don't want you to be wrong about me. I could kill the bitch.

“So, what are you going to do?”

My eyes were straying to his throat. I followed the cords of muscle to his collar bone. Thought briefly about biting again, but his fingers tapped my jaw.

“When someone challenges you to a game of chess, you don't just walk away. You wipe the floor with them and show them how wrong they were for challenging you.”

I wasn't exactly following, but I nodded all the same.

“A detective is going to be coming to question you and check out the shop. I don't know if they suspect you or not, either way we've been issued a challenge.”

“And what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

I was innocent in this particular sense. It's not like they could arrest me for a murder I didn't commit and had nothing to do with.  
Marco leaned in closer to me. His hips rolled down and the noise that escaped my throat was anything but human. It was down right primal.

“Be my partner. Play with me, Jean.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being so incredibly patient over the last few months and all of the positive comments and kudos! You've astounded me with the support I've been received for this story, and I can't thank you all enough. I know it's been pretty crazy since the last update, but FINALLY the new chapter is out! I'm going to attempt to keep a steady writing stream from here on out.  
> Special thanks to mystitrinqua for taking a look over this chapter for any surface errors.  
> I know I make them. We all do. Thank you all for over looking them. 
> 
> This chapter Jean and Marco finally get together physically! It's only been 3 chapters of sexual tension before this.  
> Please enjoy! 
> 
> As always, you can track the fic tag on tumblr under fic: play with me  
> And you can follow along with me under the name of Racy-Riren

I watched as Jean's breathing evened out. His chest rising and falling as sleep over-came him. The sun was starting to set, illuminating the dingy little bedroom in bursts of gold. The day had been a long one from start to finish, and as much as I hated to admit it, fatigue was starting to plague even me. But I'd vowed to keep myself awake. At least until I knew for sure that we were safe from any lurking eyes, or wandering bodies that might decide to come rain on our parade for the evening. I preoccupied myself with watching Jean's body sprawled across the sunken mattress. His hair was still damp from the shower, and I took a moment to imagine what it would feel like to brush my fingers through the strands again. I hadn't gotten the chance to really enjoy the feel of it when I gripped him earlier, but I didn't want to risk waking him. Not after the long stretch of sleepless nights he'd just had. He'd been up for days stressing over my project and scheming my assumed demise. When he became passionate about something and threw himself into his work, he skipped all of his basic needs.

No food.  
No shower.  
No sleep.  
  
Now he'd had all three, and I'd amused myself with the thought of domestic life as I scrutinized the contents of his fridge. Or the lack there of. How he managed to survive on mustard, half a loaf of bread, and what at one point might have been a fresh lemon would be one of the world's greatest mysteries.

It had taken a bit of convincing on his end, but by the end of our discussion I finally agreed to let him out of the ropes that I had bound him with. Initially when I knocked him out, I wasn't sure how he was going to react when he woke up. I knew he had a history of a violent temper and I didn't want to wind up on the receiving end of it, should our little heart to heart go south.

I should have known better. Jean would never strike me like that. Slice me with a blade, yes. Turn me into his perfect life sized doll, absolutely. But a closed fist and a raised voice would have never come from him. Not at me. Because even if he didn't know how deep our bond went consciously, subconsciously his body remembered. So, while he showered, I scrounged together a haphazard meal for him and then sent him off to bed once his stomach was full and I saw his eyes start to haze as the adrenaline finally subsided from his body.

A small noise from my Sleeping Beauty drew my attention back to him. If I wasn't careful, I'd start to doze. So I went back to distracting myself with him instead. My eyes traced every line of his face. The curve of his nose. The soft pout of his mouth as small puffs of breath escaped him. I inched myself closer to him, careful not to disturb the mattress or make a sound, seeking out the one tiny spot I knew I'd find just at the edge of his soft hair. A small jagged imperfection at the base of his skull. It was hard to spot unless you knew where to look. Gently, I brushed my fingers along it. Tracing it. No longer worrying about disturbing him, too lost to the touch of the skin and the smell of his shampoo. That little scar meant everything to me. Both a gift and a curse.

I knew he suffered from chronic headaches because of it. Occasionally I'd catch him rubbing at his temples when no one was looking. Or sometimes the way he'd regard me would be slightly more casual than our usual customer and shop-keep formalities. But then just as soon as it would happen, it would be gone. The recognition in his honey colored eyes would fade and I would go right back to being just a simple shop regular. Not a friend. Not a companion. All because of this tiny little mark. Sometimes I hated it with a bitter negativity. How different things would have been if what had happened to cause it had never happened. But then I collect myself and I'm reminded that it was also a positive thing. Not all memories are kind ones, and I never wanted to witness another time where Jean was so upset. Besides, it had all worked out in my favor.

He'd agreed. Gone were the days of polite conversation, stolen glances, and awkward customer friendly tension.  
He had agreed to be a part of this.  
He had agreed to play this game.  
He had agreed to be mine.

A smile crossed my face at the thought. It sent my heart pounding and I could feel butterflies swirling in my stomach. Jean was mine now. A laugh almost bubbled up from my throat, but the hand suddenly on my wrist stifled it. He was awake. I didn't even have time to give him a kiss.

“Do you always pet people while they sleep?”  
  
Sleep had left his voice hoarse. The sound of it sending shudders down my spine.  
  
“Only when they sleep like you do. You look like death.”  
  
“Gee, thanks. And you're a dazzling fucking princess.”

A yawn cracked his face in half as he sat up, the blanket falling away to expose a bare chest that had my throat going dry and my tongue swelling to twice its size. I hadn't forgotten what it felt like to straddle him earlier. I certainly hadn't forgotten what he had felt like when my hips rolled forward as I got closer to him. Removing myself from that lap took an iron will that I only possessed under the most dire situations.

I had to internally smack myself and continuously be reminded that at any moment there would be a knock at the door and how Jean reacted when he was questioned would play a crucial part in all of this. My sex drive could wait. As disappointing as it was to admit, I'm sure Jean felt the same. The distinct lack of steam that should have poured out from the bathroom when he opened the door told me all I needed to know about how he chose to calm that raging beast.  
Some part of me really hoped he didn't think I rejected him, because I wanted to. It would just be a conquest for a different day. Tonight we had plans to lay out.

“I'm surprised you stayed.”  
  
I arched a brow at him, my head tilting to the side in slight confusion. Did he really think that I'd abandon him? After everything we'd been through in the last twenty four hours, I was shocked.

“Of course I did. You'll incriminate yourself otherwise.”  
  
He looked mildly offended at my words.  
  
“But I didn't do anything.”  
  
“You're offensive on a normal day, Jean. You think you're going to be able to handle the police that waltz in here hoping to prove your guilt so that they can close the case early? By tomorrow it's going to be all over the news. They'll be looking for suspects and easy targets. You're the only resin doll shop in the region, your hands are painted red even if you don't want them to be.”

I watched him maul this over a minute. He was silent as he weighed his options, his head resting back against the dirty wall.  
  
“What makes you such a pro at all of this?”

I flashed him the brightest smile I could muster up. My fatigue ebbing away as my heart spiked at the question. Oh, what an amazing question. The fact that he was so curious about it all had me down right giddy.  
  
“That's a very good question. You'll get the first hand experience soon enough. But I'd be more than happy to give you a quick lesson now, if you want.”

The look he tossed my way was filled with pure confusion. Of course I was being extremely vague in my answer. I wanted to be able to show him step by step. Walk him through the process. Let him enjoy the excitement and the thrill of his first victim. But we didn't have time for all of that tonight. We'd both need our strength for the coming days and he had been the only one that had been able to nap today.  
But that didn't mean I couldn't show him the basics.

With the light fading completely outside, the entire room plunged into a gray scaled darkness. Only a small slit of pale moonlight guided my way entirely onto the mattress, my weight sinking back over Jean's blanket covered hips as, for the second time that day, I straddled his body.

I could feel the sigh of breath escape his lips as he leaned into the soft touch of my fingers as they danced along his stubbled jaw. My palm found the pulse in his neck and I took a moment to revel in the feel of his heart beating faster under my touch.  
  
“The only thing that makes me different from you, Jean, is the fact that I know where to touch. Both emotionally and physically. I'm kind. I'm polite. I have a smile that people feel like they can trust. I laugh at the right times. And I keep a tight filter over my mouth.”  
  
I could feel his jaw tighten at that last part. He knew it was a comment made just for him. Jean had never been known for his tact.  
I leaned in closer to him, my lips ghosting inches from his as I lowered my voice to a soft and content purr.  
  
“That's how you get them. You make them trust you. They think they're your friend. They think they're important to you. You'll never hurt them because you're too good of a person. So, they tell you everything. They spill their life stories. Their hopes. Their dreams. Soon, maybe in a few hours, you know everything there is to know about them. And that's when you strike.”

My hand found his throat and I could feel his adam's apple bob in a gasp against my palm. My grip wasn't hard. But I didn't move my hand even when his fingers laced around my wrist. I was enjoying his reactions. The little spark of a glow in his eyes. How his breath would catch when I said something that surprised him or touched him in a way he wasn't expecting.  
With my lips barely a breath from his, I slipped my hand to the back of his head, careful of the tender scarred spot. My free hand brushed along his jaw, the pads of my fingers pressing right into the juncture where his ear and skull met. His mouth opened to say something, probably another question or to make a quick quip about the way I was sitting on top of him. But instead of entertaining him, I applied pressure right to the exact point my finger was resting on his jaw.

Jean's eyes widened as his words died in his throat and I watched him wince, easing the pressure of my finger only slightly.  
  
“This makes talking painful. They won't be able to scream and with the right amount of pressure you can dislocate the jaw all together.”

I allowed my hands to slip away from his face, moving to his neck where I rested my forearm against his pulse point, my lips brushing his ear as I explained.

“Right here is how you lower them to the ground. You have full control of the head and neck.”  
  
I could feel how his body shuddered from my touch. It was either from excitement or terror. His face gave nothing away, even when I made eye contact with him.

“That still doesn't answer my question...”  
  
His voice sounded thick. He was becoming uncomfortable and so I dropped my arm away from his throat and made myself comfortable just straddling his body.

“It doesn't answer the question of what makes me a pro? Sure it does. Knowledge and experience make me a pro at all of this.”  
  
He arched a brow at me, his cattish eyes glowing with annoyance at the skirt of his question .

“You mean to tell me you do this for a hobby? You're a murderer and you're sitting here on top of me confessing everything to the man who's sold you custom made dolls for the last year? Right. The cat I'll believe. But you just casually strolling up to someone and downing them is a bit hard to believe.”  
  
I laughed softly and rolled off of him and onto my back, staring up at the cracked ceiling that desperately needed a coat of paint. The white now withered to a decaying yellow.

“Denial is all a part of it, Jean. You want people to think that you'd never be able to do it. That's all a part of the allure and the appeal.”  
  
He went quiet after that and for a moment I wondered if he had fallen back asleep. At least until I turned to look at him and found him tracing me with his eyes, his delicate fingers curled into fists in the blanket.

“Why me?”  
  
It was a quiet question. Filled with apprehension and caution. As if asking it would pull the veil from my vision and I'd see a clarity I surely lacked in choosing him to be a part of this.  
  
“Because you're the most important person in my world, Jean. You're the only one that matters.”

My words echoed their truth around the room, leaving both of us completely speechless for a moment. Him, because it was a confession he wasn't expecting to receive. Me, because there was nothing left to say. No frivolous words or flowery poetry would portray my absolute love for Jean Kirschtein the way that those words just did. It was honest. It was a statement stripped of all of the lies I told on a daily basis.

Pure.  
Emotional.  
Raw.

The whole world could burn, everyone else dying at our feet. As long as Jean was with me, nothing else mattered.  
I'd burn in hell for eternity and laugh about it, if it meant that Jean was by my side. He was the only one. He has always been the only one. I'd destroy anyone that threatened him. Anyone that threatened our happiness. I'd make sure Jean knew the thrill of the kill, and together we'd be untouchable.

His lips found mine in that moment as if we were magnetized. Drawn together like a force of nature. There was no softness to the kiss. No gentle caress that would give way to rough desire. Jean was all hard edges and untamed rage. Built up sexual tension and frustration. It was once again like being devoured by a beast and I was happy to be swallowed whole if it meant that I could feel the press of his body against mine. The delicious heat of arousal coiling like a snake in my stomach as his hands found the delicate seams of my clothes. Much later, I'd find half of them discarded across the floor. The other half would be torn to bits in the haste of removing them. But in that moment I hardly cared. All that I cared about was the way his calloused work-weathered hands brushed across the sensitive skin of my hips. The way his body arched forward and I could feel the heavy pulsing between his legs that sent my entire being into overdrive. I'd wanted for too long. The nights I'd spent rolling this very scene around in my head was the equivalent of stick figures next to Starry Night. Barely even comparable.

When his lips left mine I was almost embarrassed at the sound that escaped my throat. A whine that shifted into a moan when his fingers found the sensitive skin of my thighs and I could feel the scrape of his teeth on my neck, his hot breath rolling over me as he spoke.

“This whole time I thought you wouldn't be interested, clearly I was wrong.”

I felt the flame of my blood creep up into my cheeks as my fingers found their way into his hair, giving a sharp commanding tug. Had he not been looking at me in that cellar? Did he miss the whole part where I straddled his body and held back from fucking him senseless on a chair? Now with any luck he'd be as thick below the belt as he was in the upper head.

“Shut up.”

Now wasn't the time for talking. I didn't want his words when his mouth could be busy in other places. I had no problem letting him take control, but if he was planning to stay on top, he'd have to work for it.

He took the command easily, submitting instantly as his mouth once again found my skin. I kept my fingers twisted into the strands of his hair in the event that I had to move him on my own or gain his attention back. It was everything I had wanted. Everything I'd imagined. His mouth ran a ring around my throat. Sucking the skin along my collar bone until it blossomed beautifully with bruises. My cry of absolute delight rang out across the room when his teeth sank into the soft flesh of my chest and his tongue found the waiting nipple. Teasing. He was a teasing little fuck. I was left panting as I watched him. His eyes flashing up at me from the soft fan of his lashes. His lips pulling into a taunting smirk.

“You... fucking... suck.”

My head hit the pillow as my entire body arched up, eyes popping wide when the heat of his palm found my aching length.

“Well, not yet. But we're definitely getting there.”

I bit my lip to hold back a groan as his hand started to pump, fingers brushing along the sensitive head as he teased me to the edge of insanity. It took everything I had to remain in control. Especially as I watched the beautiful curve of his lips split apart and consume me. His tongue greedily lapping at the soft skin. Drinking in the beads of precum that had me glistening.

“Jesus... Jean...”

A shuddering moan broke from my lips as my eyes shut, hips working up against his palm and his tongue as I shoved against his mouth.

My breathing was labored. My fingers twisted into the sheets as if I needed something to anchor me to the spot. I could feel my release building inside of me. Running through my veins and tensing my muscles. If he kept up the magic he was working with his tongue, I wasn't going to make it much longer. And then, all at once, the slick heat of his mouth was gone. A shudder rolled up my spine, the unwelcome cold air of the room blasting against the overly sensitive wet skin of my length.  
My eyes popped open and I sat up on my arms to watch what he was doing.

“Have you lost your fucking-” My words died in my throat at the sight of his cock standing at attention to greet me.

Long. Thick. Impressively stunning. It suddenly wasn’t just his face that warranted the once derogatory nickname of horse.My hand slapped over my mouth to bite back the whimper what wanted to escape.

“Holy shit...”

“Hold on a second.”

His entire body twisted, muscles straining in his chest and stomach as he reached for the lopsided nightstand next to the bed. I was an incredible sinner, but Jean Kirschstein was the devil. Especially when he tore open the condom with his teeth and started to slick up his fingers with lube that I had no idea he even had. But thank god he had it.

My body ached for him at this point. As he prepared himself my hand reached down and gripped my own throbbing arousal, stroking and attempting to fill the void that his mouth had left me with by using the beautiful scene in front of me as a guide. A short gasp caught in my throat as I gave myself a tight squeeze. A sharp sting of pain licked up my wrist and had my hand stilling, one eye opening to regard him. The look on his face was down right primal and sent a thrill through me that ended right at the tip of my cock.  
“What do you think you're doing?”  
Being scolded by the world's most erotic man. Blonde hair askew on his head from where my hands had grabbed it. Molten eyes wild and hazed with a passionate lust I could only hope to counter. The hard lines of his body alone were enough to end me right then and there.

“Spread your legs.”

He didn't have to tell me twice. He could have commanded me to get on all fours and bark like a fucking dog. As long as he was going to be on top of me, I didn't care.  
Legs apart my hand fell away from my own aching length to once again twist into the sheets as a slicked finger found my entrance. It was cute that he wanted to be sweet and start out small, but I wanted to feel the pain of being stretched to the point of no return. I wanted his teeth in my skin. I wanted every inch of my body to be marked.

“Jean...”

My voice sounded weak, even to my own ears. My hips arching as I adjusted to the feel of his long finger stroking inside of me, a second one soon joining the first.

“More.”

Artistic fingers that work with molding clay and resin all day long worked me like a fucking instrument. Sliding and pushing into all of the right places. Reaching further in and seeking that delicious spot that I knew he'd come to know so well.  
But once again, he pushed me right to the edge of euphoria and stopped. His fingers stopping right on the place I needed him the most. His free hand keeping a firm grip on the head of my cock. Denying me everything that I have ever wanted.

“Jean!”

“Again...”

The look I shot him had to have stopped his blood cold as I was left panting with an itch I couldn't scratch. Hips gyrating forward and trying to push his fingers back to where they belonged.

“Please...”

“Say it again, Marco. I want my name falling off of your lips like I'm your god. Worship me. Scream. Beg. I'm not going to let you come untilthis room is filled with your voice.”

Sweet Jesus, how I love this man. His lips found mine with a crushing force that had me crying out against him, his hands working in slow strides before stopping and pulling out all together.

“W-why?”

It was a whine and but I wasn't a proud man at this point.

And with a quick shove I knew all too well why. My back arched up off of the bed, my long legs found their way around Jean's hips and I was singing prayers to the heavens as his delicious dick penetrated me all in one go. It stung in a way that sent my body into over drive. The sweet lick of pain shooting through me. Beating in time with the pulsing in my own cock. I would have came right then and there if his hand weren't still pressed tight to my tip, blocking and squeezing. Adding to the already intense amounts of friction that were setting my body on fire.

The sound I made must have been music to his ears because I watched with hazed eyes as his lips twisted into a smirk and a chuckle left him.  
He found a rhythm easily. Starting out slow. Testing the waters and making sure of my comfort.  
My sweet Jean.  
He got the hint when my teeth found the cords of his neck and my fingers gripped his hair to the point of pain. I could taste his blood across my tongue for a sweet moment and he fought back in every way I had ever wanted. His hips pounding me hard into the mattress.

His own mouth seeking revenge on my skin. Bruises. Bite marks. Blood. My nails found their way down his spine and the noise he made fueled every wet dream I would ever have for the rest of my life.  
I could feel the pulse of his desire. The way his heavy cock throbbed with every thrust. I was losing my mind with the need of release. Fighting him. Tasting every inch available to me. Urging him to his own glorious place of discomfort.  
Both at once, our heads kicked back. Screams rising from us and I could feel my stomach growing warm and sticky. Jean's chest pressing my length between us.

His head fell to my shoulder. His breathing ragged against the sore skin of my abused neck. Both of our hearts were bulldozing our chests and with shaking arms I gathered him against me. Holding him tight as I pressed soft kisses to his shoulder, our bodies slackened on top of one another, sweat pressing our hair to our foreheads.

“Marco....”

We laid like that for a while. His hips still gyrating forward occasionally. His length still pressed into me, the movement sending small bursts of pleasure right into my belly. My fingers stroked through his hair and down his back, tracing the way his spine curved and the hard muscle of his shoulders.  
When he finally rolled onto his back I was disappointed at the way the cold air hit me.

“That was... Fuck. I needed that.”

He raked a hand over his face and I had to laugh, reaching my own hand out to brush along his side.

“Mm, then you'll be ready for round two in a second.”

The words were a purr on my lips as I moved to straddle his body, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

The next morning my body was deliciously sore. I had bruises from hands and teeth peppered across my skin and when I stretched I let out a soft noise of content. Jean's soft snoring left my heart fluttering and I brushed a soft kiss to his temple, careful not to wake him as I slipped from the covers. I'd start the coffee now, and let the scent of it wake him slowly. Or so I had planned.  
I was mourning over the tatters of what was once my favorite sweater, pants already hanging on my hips when I heard the door to the shop rattle.

Jean didn't get customers on a good day. What made today different? When I took a quick peek through the blinds I could have slapped the fuck out of myself for slipping up the way I had. There, standing at the door of the shop was the very person I had warned Jean about yesterday. The officer had finally shown up for the questioning. And here I was, stuck in the apartment. Not my picture perfect situation.

I slapped my hands down on Jean's ass and spurred him awake.

“Get up. Put pants on. They're here.”

I didn't let my voice quiver with the nervousness that I was feeling. Instead, steeling myself and curling the feeling of dread into a small pocket in the back of my mind. I wouldn't let this happen again. And in the mean time, I'd prepare Jean for the worst. They wouldn't get the upper hand now. Not before the game had even begun.  
\--------------

Eren watched with cold eyes as the body was removed from the apartment on a stretcher. Paramedics and police car lights flashed, drowning the faces of all of the bystanders in eerie red and blue shadows.  
His heart wrenched a little as they hoisted the body up into the ambulance. He couldn't physically see her anymore with the way they had her wrapped in a body bag like some sort of goth mummy. But he remembered every detail of her face, down to the dimples that would form when she smiled.

Krista had always been a good friend of his when they were growing up. She always seemed so kind. Trusting. A bit misguided at times, like when she had met her girlfriend for the first time. Ymir seemed a little... troubled. And it had worried Eren a bit. But it was none of his business and before long they had lost touch.  
Now Krista was destined to only be a number in a chart some where locked away in dark boxes. Another unsolved case in a serial murder mystery that started up a few years ago. It disappeared after a time. The trail went cold. The calling cards of beautifully photographed dolls stopped coming. People stopped dying. But then all of a sudden like a wave, it started again.

The whispers of the killer's return started first in the underground and still the media was hesitant to draw attention to it again. But now after this, everyone would probably be scrambling to cover the case. The return of the formidable Doll Master. He took one last longing look at Krista's empty apartment and let out a soft sigh. He could only hope he had done a good enough job at recreating the scenes he had seen hundreds of times in photographs.

It broke his heart that it had been Krista. But who would have ever guessed that she and Ymir were actually two of the highest ranking criminals in Trost's underground? Deceptively sweet, little Krista, more accurately known as Historia Reiss. Working her way up the ranks to be Queen. Innocent people were getting involved. Innocent people were dying. She had to be silenced. And now her death would kill two birds with one stone, as Levi had put it.

Make her death look like it had been The Doll Master, Ymir and whoever they were would take each other out. Levi had devised the plan with the help of Armin. It was genius no matter how you looked at it. All Eren had to do was the job. Make it an identical killing, leave nothing behind. Now all they had to do was stand back and watch. Ymir would be thirsty for vengeance in her grief. The Doll Master wouldn't let anyone come close to them. Follow it closely. Listen to the whispers going around. When the time came that they were too busy hunting each other, one killing the other, sneak in and take out the survivor.  
They were bad people. They did bad things. Eren could be justified in his actions. He was protecting people. He was a police officer, after all. This was his job.

“Good work today.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Levi came to stand next to him. Eren had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the streets starting to clear and the cars pulling away. The cold night air had seeped into his body through his jacket and he rubbed at his arms to try to bring some of the warmth back.

“Thanks.”

His smile didn't reach his eyes as he met Levi's cool stare.

“I know it was hard for you.”

“The alternative would have been harder.”

Levi let the conversation drop at that. He moved passed Eren and started towards his car, fingers brushing down along Eren's arm as he did so.

The cold was no longer what was making Eren shiver. In fact, at Levi's swift touch, he felt suddenly flushed.  
He followed him to the car like a diligent dog, the promise of a reward leading into a long night and a satisfying exhaustion come the morning, washing away all of the dark thoughts he had been having moments ago.


End file.
